


Männlein Im Walde

by hellhoundsprey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Bottom Castiel, Breathplay, Crossdressing Castiel, Extremely Dubious Consent, First Time, Gangbang, Halloween, Learning Disabilities, M/M, Multi, Past Underage, Ritual Sex, Rituals, Sibling Incest, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 05:42:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8433919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellhoundsprey/pseuds/hellhoundsprey
Summary: Nicholas takes his brother into the woods. It's Halloween.





	

**Author's Note:**

> [Music to set the mood.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Io3bOdqwrdI)

 

 

Because it’s already so dark and you two are walking so close, nobody can see you holding hands. You stare back at the painted or masked little faces of the children who gawp at you. You know that when their eyes flick to your right, they will either be gone within the next second or will follow you until you’re out of sight.

Nick sorts through people in ways you don’t understand. He’s nice to everyone, always, but you know your bowl of Sunday dinner soup is the only one he doesn’t spit into. At this point, you are pretty much convinced he likes you. Likes you a lot. (You didn’t see his purple-blue kisses on the insides of any of your other siblings’ thighs.)

You’re his favorite (you know it, you know it; _feel_ it). A fact that turns your insides all mushy, your face and legs-in-between all warm, throbbing. You like this feeling, and Nick said he likes that you like it.

So, Nick likes you. A lot.

You whisper, “Are we there yet?” but he doesn’t answer. So you keep walking.

The street lights are on and you admire the shine of your skirt whenever you walk through another brightness. The lights fade eventually when the road gets more deserted, wider, a little more unpredictable; you hold onto Nick, and he lets you. You keep walking.

Little houses on wheels, you call them. Or big cardboard boxes. They kind of look like boxes, the ones without wheels. Less children here, maybe because there are no doorbells to ring. You watch two sisters sorting through their bounty on what could be a tiny front yard if it had any flowers growing in the dirt. The smaller one hugs a handful of chocolate bars to her chest and glares at you as if she would have to protect them from you. It baffles you to be conceived this way until you realize her eyes are too far to the right, too far up to be directed at you.

You keep walking. And walking.

So many cardboard box houses. You remind yourself that you have it better with your ‘real’ house. It’s not very tidy but everyone fits inside: all of your six siblings and Dad and Whiskers. You wouldn’t fit this many people into one of the box houses. You’d need two (at least). Unimaginable though to decide who would live in which one. You’d have to commute every day so you wouldn’t miss seeing the other half of your family. Sounds exhausting.

You huff, and Nick squeezes your hand in return. He takes notice of and understands the small things, of the many many things you do that everyone seems to overlook, and you really like him for it. The feeling is back and you kind of want to kiss him now, but this isn’t your room, so you don’t kiss him. ( _Rules are important, Castiel._ ) So you keep walking.

The homes thin out until trees are sewn in between, until there is nothing but trees.

It’s dark. It’s narrow-endless. You don’t like it.

“Almost there,” whispers Nick.

So you swallow your breath. So you cling to him a little less. You can be good.

A faint light, far away, but you can see it better and better the closer you get to it. Another cardboard box, on wheels this time, but crooked. You only see one tire. This house has been abandoned a long time ago. You faintly remember being here before, maybe while playing with Samandriel or Anna, but you were too scared to get lost so you didn’t concentrate on anything but your siblings.

Nick pulls a key from deep within the pocket of his jeans. You hold your breath; it feels right to do so, like something is off, like this is special. The door creaks open and you let Nick pull you inside.

Candles. A lot of candles. Over there, in the far right of the house.

“Go take a look. It’s okay.”

You nod, lick your lips, separate yourself from your brother and make your way towards the source of light. The old wallpaper you press along on shifts loose under your palms. Poor house, to be left alone like that. Now you’re only a few feet away from the candles. There are busted windows in this ‘room’ that have been nailed shut. It’s warmer here than outside, maybe because of the candles. The floor is dirty, mocking the traces of sweeping. You can tell that there used to be furniture in here – there are outlines on the floor.

Nick brushes past you, both hands running over your hitched shoulders to remind you to relax, and you let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding. You watch him setting a few more candles to the others, pouring berries you didn’t know he brought onto a little table you only see once you step further into the room, round the corner.

You inspect the arrangement it offers – twigs, berries, pinecones, dried flowers. Fascinated, you watch Nick pulling out a box which upon opening reveals to be filled to the brim with feathers and tiny, tiny bones. They remind you of Thanksgiving leftovers. Poor birds.

Nick places another, very delicate looking bone into the box before he puts the lid back on, shoves the box back underneath the table.

He’s kneeling, hands on his thighs, and he looks at the berries and twigs, not at you.

“Castiel. Sit.”

You make a face at the dirty floor. Gabe said he got the costume especially for you and you don’t want to ruin it, so you shuffle over to the mattress in the far corner of the room and climb onto it. You don’t want to dirty the pretty red sheets, so you take off your sneakers to place them on the floor instead, fold your legs under your butt. Nick neither looks like he moved since he put the bone box away nor like he wants to move anytime soon.

You let your gaze wander through the room, pick at the hem of your socks.

“Castiel.”

You look up. Your brother is still eyeing the twigs and berries.

“You are not afraid, are you?”

You shake your head.

“Use words.”

“No,” you say.

“No what?”

“Not afraid.”

“Good. And you don’t have any reason to.”

Nick draws something from underneath the table. Not the bone box, but you can’t see _what_ it is. He lifts it to his face and slips it over his head by a thin string. Then, he turns to finally look at you.

You blink, turn away.

“Afraid?”

You blink more, pick at a crease in the red soft fabric.

“Castiel. It’s still me.”

You hear him getting up, walking towards you. You force yourself to look up. The light is insufficient to really see your brother’s eyes behind the mask, but you know they are there, so you try hard to pretend.

Yes, it’s still Nick. Still your brother. His body language, even if slightly different – slower, more graceful. Like he’s dancing to a real gentle song. Like he doesn’t weigh anything at all.

The mask is as red as your costume. Its eyes are angry, its mouth pulled to a wide smile. You scoot backwards when Nick bends down because you are afraid the horns might poke your face, but then he grabs you by the arm and you still immediately. This close, you can make out the glint of eyes.

Nick’s grip around your naked arm feels cold.

“Are you afraid, brother? And remember: I know when you’re lying.”

“Know when I’m lying.”

“Are you or are you not afraid of me?”

“Not.”

He still has your arm. His free hand slides between your legs, and your breath hitches. It’s been so long. You grind into his hand. The folds of the skirt feel funny on your bare legs. You like that.

“Good.”

You huff when he pulls back. Now that he touched you, the pulsing between your legs has grown to something you can no longer ignore. When you lean towards him, he doesn’t stop you. When you try to find a spot to kiss, he tells you,

“On the mask.”

So you kiss the devil-mouth. Feels wrong. Hard. Not warm enough. You like Nick’s real mouth better.

“Tongue.”

Feels weird to lick it. Good boys get treats though, Nick told you that, and Nick is always fair.

(Nick never breaks promises. His rules are simple enough for you to be able to follow them perfectly – _touch mine and I’ll touch yours, do A and get B, do exactly as I say, don’t worry, let me_. If everyone made things as simple as Nick, you wouldn’t be labelled as dumb. They just don’t know how to do it right.)

He pets your neck in the way that gives you goose flesh, in the way couples do it on TV; how Dad used to do it to Mom.

“Tonight is a very special night.”

“Halloween.”

“Yes, that too.” Nick’s hand slides back under your skirt. “But it’s about more than candy.”

He talks for a while; too much for you to remember. His hand feels so good. You want more, press your body up against him, but he keeps it at a lazy pace. Your foreheads are pressed against each other. You can feel his breath getting heavier underneath the mask but can’t feel it on your skin. The only holes in the mask are for the eyes.

“So you will help me,” Nick resumes, and you nod out of reflex, want to be good. “I can’t do it alone, brother.”

“I’ll help.”

“Yeah. You will.”

He withdraws. You whine; your body chases the touch. Nick’s hand presses you down, shoves your legs apart. You open them even wider. You know this game.

You know it by heart. “Did you touch?”

Your head buzzes with the force you use to shake your head. Your eyes feel wet. “No,” you say, because that’s your line.

Now, he usually touches you again, tells you nice words, kisses your neck or your belly. The routine breaks in a too long pause, and you start to panic, feel it rise up your throat. Did you do something wrong? Must have. Must be your fault. You upset him. Idiotidiotidiot.

“We’ll do something different tonight.”

He slaps your face when you sob.

“No need to cry. All is fine.”

He tugs on your prick again. The perfect soothing; like an itch being scratched. You melt. This time you remember not to make a sound when he lets go.

“See? All good. You’ll like it. I promise.”

“O-okay.”

“Do you feel good?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’ll feel even better.”

“Yeah?”

The mask nods for you.

You smile.

Nick never breaks promises. It will feel good. You will like it.

“So,” and your brother whispers now even though you two are so far away from home, even though the forest can’t tell anyone. “Here are the rules. Listen very closely. You’ll only hear them once.”

Little brother awe and worship plastered all over you, you nod.

“You can scream and yell and everything you want, as long as it’s not a word. No words. Very important. If there are questions, you answer by nodding or shaking your head. You will act like this until I say ‘amen’.”

Your lips curl in between your teeth. You nod eagerly.

“If you are hurting...”

Nick’s fingertips tip-tap over the one of the bumpy lines that reaches from your knee up to where your shorts usually are if you wear any (not now).

“... _Really_ hurting, Castiel...”

He thumbs at the other much shorter, much deeper ones. (You remember them well.)

“...Then you may speak one word and one word only, and that will be ‘Nicholas’.”

You mouth it in silence.

“The third and last is: don’t be afraid.”

You blink at the mask with your brother hidden underneath it.

“I’m here,” he tells you, “and I’m watching over you. Like a guardian angel.”

Wide eyes, bird-heart; you gasp. “Like Mom?”

“Yes. Just like Mom.”

Your brother puts both of his warm palms on your temples. As he gets up to his feet, you feel the mask touching your forehead once and lightly. Like a kiss. Nick walks a few steps backwards, until you can see him from head to toe. He puts his forefinger to the devil’s lips.

“And now: shhh.”

Your lips are back between your teeth. You’re ready.

You watch Nick rounding the candles and sink back against the wall in search of comfort, huff a small sigh. The skirt is scratchy against your stiffy, but you can be patient ( _very_ patient) if the game calls for it. You splay your legs wider and shove your thumb just between your teeth.

Nick extinguishes all candles but one, the one in the middle, and scatters three handfuls of berries over the sea of melted wax. The room fills with fine smoke. You like this scent. It reminds you of Christmas.

It is now much, much darker in the room, and at first your eyes have difficulties following Nick’s movements. You faintly see him shoving up his mask just high enough to be able to kiss the fistful of bones he then throws after the berries. The floor must be a mess now.

He kneels down, in front of the table, and he lowers his head – and stays like that. Eventually, his hands fold in his lap. Funny, you think, to see Nick praying. After Mom went to heaven, Nick stopped going to church, but he looks serious now. A lot like Dad. (Maybe Nick will be coming with next Sunday. That would be nice.)

Nick draws a deep, deep breath and expels it just as slow.

“Oh, God of under. God of earth, of time, and of death.”

Nick’s head droops lower.

“I call upon you tonight, my Lord. My one and true Lord. Lucifer.”

You watch the flicker of the one remaining flame.

“I do happily sell my soul to the Devil, Satan-Lucifer, in exchange for the purity of a soul.”

Something begins to move in the darkness.

You hold your breath.

“Send them. Send them to take it. I’m sacrificing it in your name, my Lord, for you are the end and the beginning of all.”

Out of the nothingness emerge four tall figures. They move with confidence, like they have done this before. Like they own every inch of blackness in this forest.

They come to stand in a row behind Nick.

Your skin crawls. You don’t move.

“Come forth. I summon you, I beseech you. Come forth to our realm. My Lord and God Lucifer, I offer you sanctuary here where you may carry out your claim. Come to this vessel I have chosen.”

In the low light of the single candle, you can distinguish the figures who start approaching you: the first is a bear, the second a tiger. The third, a monkey, is followed by a wolf.

Your knees come together. You huff around the thumb now wedged between your teeth.

Wolf stops in his tracks. Tiger, who is closest to you, immediately turns to see what’s wrong. As if they are connected.

“What?” Tiger.

Wolf hesitates, flinches, while Bear continues to close in on you.

“You said he was _legal_.”

“He is,” assures Nick. His voice is still gentle. You can make out his silhouette from between all the legs, still kneeling, head still bowed.

Wolf sways where he stands. “He looks...unsure.”

“Castiel?”

Your head perks up.

“Do you consent, Castiel?”

You nod to Nick first, to Wolf next.

“Sane and safe. Just like we discussed.”

The distance won’t let you see the faintest hint of eyes, but Wolf’s fingers twitch in the air next to his hip.

Someone runs their fingers through your hair. You look up and are met with Bear, gulp a breath in surprise. _Masks_. Those are masks. Like Nick’s.

Bear doesn’t speak and you can’t see it exactly, but you are sure he is staring right into your eyes. You feel bare.

His touch is gentle. Your prick stirs underneath your dress and you turn away in shame, just to notice how close Monkey is to your other side. Wolf has yet to move. Tiger just kind of...stands in the middle of them all.

All eyes are on you. Like they expect you to do a trick, say something smart ( _C’mon, Ass-Tiel, st-st-stutter for us!_ ), but Nick said not to, so you stay where you are. Your heart is so loud, your mouth kinda numb. Bear scratches your scalp now with both of his hands, ruffles it and probably makes it look all silly. You swallow, lick your lips. Goose flesh, again.

Your prick pulses so bad that it itches, so your knees fall outward again, back to how they were before the creatures came.

A minimal tilt in Tiger’s head.

“We’re here to take you,” Bear explains. “Are you excited?”

Nick prompts, “Show them,” so you lift your skirt.

Wolf sways again, and Tiger’s body turns towards you some more.

You let the fabric drop and your head flushes hot. You look for a set of eyes in the darkness, anything, but there is nothing except for the warmth of Bear’s hands. They’re petting you by now, brush along your temples, trace your cheeks and ears. It tickles, and when you turn your head to get more, your nose bumps into his crotch. You’re quick to keep from stammering an apology (the _rules_ , Castiel), then gasp in surprise when you’re being pressed back into it instead of shoved away.

Hesitantly first, you mouth at the fly of Bear’s jeans. It’s obvious what’s underneath. You’re not stopped, so you get bolder. The denim dampens quickly and leaves your tongue dry, but the hands pull you in, so you keep going. When they let go of your head, they work the jeans open. A familiar scent, even though you’ve only ever done this with your brother. You look up, try to get a glimpse underneath the mask. Futile try.

The fingers you nibble at taste sun-warmed, a little like dirt. You flinch when he smacks his prick over the corner of your mouth; it leaves a wet trace on your lips that you lick away. Your mouth drops open and he reacts immediately.

You pulse, sigh. Eyes closed, dropped jaw. Nick said you’re good at this, that he’s proud. You wrap one hand around the base just like you learned, thumb at Bear’s balls.

“God. Shit.”

You shiver with the swearword; the blasphemy.

“Eager thing.” Tiger sounds rough. Steps closer, yanks his jeans open as well. You shimmy on the mattress to accommodate the space you take up cause suddenly he’s there, too close. You look up at him just when he starts rubbing his slick all over your face. He laughs, hisses, “C’mon,” grabs you by the hair to pull you off Bear, shoves himself in instead. He’s too fast and you choke, screw up your face. He laughs more and doesn’t let you up, just like Nick used to back in the days. But you grew. ( _It’s all a matter of will or won’t now, brother._ )

He’s insistent. You’re starting to slobber. A hand wraps over yours on Bear’s prick, moves it up and down until you catch on. Tiger pulls back to let you heave a breath but mostly you just cough, spit bubbling on your mouth and you’re embarrassed (like a _baby_ , Cas), groan, but then he shoves you full again. A thumb plays with your lip, smears your spit around.

You itch, bad. Your free hand is nipping at the mattress to busy itself.

You didn’t know you were humping the air until a boot steps on your thigh to keep it down. Eyes up at Monkey; you feel like crying, paw at his crotch in apology, but he just shakes his head and runs his fingers through your hair. The heel of your hand keeps grinding, and Monkey doesn’t move away.

Things are blurring now. Hot on your tongue, under your hands. Yours is sticky, ticks up against your skirt. You whine. The boot keeps you in place. You’re sweating.

Tiger pulls back just to smack your cheek, entire palm and it stings, makes you stiffen up, afraid to have done something wrong. Bear again, turning your head, pulling you in until his pubes are tickling inside your nose. Once he lets you up, you sink back against the wall, hiccupping your breath, loose and warm and overflowing.

A hand again; and you guess it’s Tiger and it _is_ , tugs into your hair and stays. He’s falling into a squat in front of you, between your legs.

“Roll over.”

You don’t understand, can’t move with how they pin you. Someone growls and then you’re twisted and turned, on all fours like Whiskers. You rub at your wet eyes, chin; snort involuntarily when Bear shoves back down your throat.

“Jesus, fuck.”

You seize, then seize again when you’re grabbed at. Hands up the back of your thighs, and it tickles _so bad_. You stick your butt out some more. You’re straining for it.

Growl. “Fuck.” Cold air on your skin. Tiger’s elbow in the small of your back makes it arch lower. “Fuck. God, yes. Lookit that.”

He’s touching the dirty thing, two fingers wide of a slide, and the sensation rushes up your spine so so hot.

Nick said not to touch there. Only clean it, wipe it. You try to find him somewhere, but the darkness is too thick, too crowded.

Tiger rubs at it, and your tongue stumbles. You should get approval. You should, you should. But you can’t talk anyway, right? And Nick’s watching, right? He’d say if. He’d say if.

“Looks good enough to eat, hm, baby boy?” and Tiger cranes around to say that, paws at you to pull you even more open; feels lewd, feels wrong, feel air crawling into you you’re so stretched. Bear’s still moving in your mouth, scrapes over your tongue that you shortly remember to swirl again before warm air is blown on your butt and then you’re _kissed_ there.

You choke – horrified, humiliated – and they keep you still, perfectly still, one holding your head and one your hips and one your legs, and then you’re kissed back _there_ again, and you make a high sound around the prick in your throat.

“Mmmh, oh.”

“Castiel, let him.”

Your head is spinning. You try not fighting them, relax, but that makes you feel so much more, makes you all soft and fluttery. It’s so wrong to kiss someone _there_ , it’s so dirty but Nick says to _let_ him, so what other choice do you have?

You float, and you stutter. Shift your legs; no one’s holding them anymore, tilt and flex to present. The mouth licks at you, tries to get inside. You shudder at the thought.

You’re so hot-numb all over. Your prick is leaking. You know it. You just know it.

“You’re nasty, man.”

Hyena-laugh against your skin. “Don’t you know it.”

When you open your eyes, there’s Wolf getting closer, slowly, as if he’s unsure, scared. You blink up at him, let Bear slip his prick over your stuck-out tongue. Would he be scared of _you_? Why?

There’s Nick, too. In the far back. Watching. Crossed arms.

“C’mon, c’mon.”

Tiger spanks you and your eyes fall closed on a whimper. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t tell you what he wants from you. Only when you arch some more (and it _hurts_ at this point) does he stop, gives you his mouth back. His skin is stubbly. Feels like being bitten.

You groan under the burn-slick-stretch. This is unheard of. To get off on something this dirty. The mouth withdraws when you just thought you’d gotten used to it. You’re still suckling on Bear’s prick. It’s so twitchy. He pulls it back and you feel empty. Look for something. Someone. Anyone.

Rip of plastic, cool liquid. You blink up at Wolf who’s still unmoved, who’s still got his jeans all tucked up and hands scary-big; as if he’s got the answers as to what is happening, what they’re doing to him exactly.

Something shoves into you and you almost topple over, make a noise. Your teeth grit; it hurts – and then it doesn’t.

“There y’go, yeah.”

Your eyes swim. Your butt pushes out, back, onto Tiger’s hand. The entirety of a finger wriggles inside of you, scrapes you out, and you have the manners left to at least gather your skirt under your chest.

Someone slaps your hands away though, pulls them out and pins them next to your head. You whine. It hurts. It hurts.

More, wider. Your hips hump uselessly. Tiger croons as if you’re doing good.

“Ready?”

“Jus’ another second, doc.”

Bear’s laugh is low and mean. “You’re spoiling him.”

“Am not.”

“Hey, come over here.”

Wolf’s boots in your line of vision, and another.

“Uh, okay? Whatever.”

Wolf retreats. Monkey takes Bear’s place. Completely silent; he’s so wet. You shudder at the taste but the fingers in your butt make you all gooey, so you open up, don’t think, don’t think.

You’ve never done it this way. Gabe showed you a video like this, once, and he told you not to tell anyone but of course you _had_ to tell Nick when he asked (he can smell it on you). It confused you. It was violent and loud, and you didn’t want Gabe to notice what it did to you, how hard it got you. Nobody but Nick is allowed to see you like this, said Nick.

Tiger moves you back and forth. You’re so slick that it’s making a weird noise, kind of like farting, but so wet, and you’re blushing, want to shimmy your knees closed but you can’t gather the control.

“That’s it. Get it.”

“Relax.”

“Good boy.”

You swallow around the prick in your mouth. Two hands are holding your head. Another two hoist your hips up some more, and then something bumps into you and then it _presses_.

You jerk in surprise when it enters.

“Jesus.”

You squirm; it shoves deeper and deeper and deeper, and you clench but it won’t _stop_.

Suddenly you’re full. It steals your breath. Overwhelmed, you can barely fathom how someone would stick anything in _there_.

Your prick swing-kisses your belly with the motion. A sharp pain and you gasp, empty-mouthed again and two are slapping at your lips now, but you can only lick at one at a time. Somebody groans, maybe you, and your scalp tingles just right.

Tiger push-pulls you on his prick; you can feel the drag and how it makes your stiffy all wet-thick-good. Your tongue gets smeared with two sets of liquid. Impossible to fit them both, but they fight as if they know better.

“No need to hold back,” mutters Nick from somewhere, and even though you’re pretty sure it’s not meant for you you moan all deep and wide.

Tiger slams in hard; you wail.

“That’s more like it, huh?”

“Slut.”

“He loves it.”

Someone tilts your face up by your chin and prompts, “Love it, huh?” and you’re not sure if yes or no, but it hurt-feels so good, makes you all hot and liquidy inside, so you nod wild. For that, you get a fist into your hair. It pulls your head back, lets your mouth drop open. Tiger goes faster. You whine your way through it.

“Baby, listen, baby; ‘s gonna cream your pretty little cunt real good.”

“Jesus fuck-“

“An’ then I’m next.”

Tiger roars, spills all warm (inside of you!) and holds you so tight you’re afraid he’ll crush you. Wolf and Bear and Monkey in front of you all have their pricks out, and all are spit-shiny. (Did _you_ do that?)

Ruddy-red. Violent.

You sob, tear up.

“Shhh-shhh-shhh, baby.”

Tiger climbs you from behind, drapes over you like a heavy blanket, grips your throat with both of his hands and squeezes, hard.

“Baby, you’re good. Don’t you worry. ‘S good.”

Tiger slips out with a pop. The fact that you’re leaking back there, madly, shocks you again, makes you gasp and gurgle with those hands still around your throat. You can hold out for a long time, but the pounding of blood in your head is so so loud, no matter how often you train.

“Get lost.” Bear-low rumble; like his fingers, his skin.

“How’d you want him?”

“In my lap.”

Finally released, you splutter, and they use your confusion to rearrange your limbs, pull your leg over Bear who’s slipped down onto the mattress, sits upright against the wall.

They push you down and it hurts, so you squeak, surprised, too much too soon.

Someone’s wrenching a hand over your mouth, the other over your eyes.

“There, there,” hums Bear, runs his fingers over your thighs, up your chest.

You try to make a sound and someone laughs as he pinches your nose shut.

They make you seesaw your butt up and down on Bear’s prick. When they don’t let up and you’re starting to feel the lack of air, you try to scratch at their fingers; they laugh, but they don’t like it.

“Can we tie him up, chief?”

“Just don’t hurt him.”

You sob when they let you gasp, cradle your skull and croon naughty words into your ears. Someone pulls the sock off one of your legs. They use it to tie your hands behind your back like that. Then they smother you again.

“Ride.”

You don’t understand. You think of horses, how the cowboys try to stay in the saddle; kinda like you, right now. Too many hands on you. They guide you, show you what to do. Your balls come down on Bear’s belly. The friction drives you crazy.

Bear groans, loud, thrusts his hips up and you can’t breathe. They only let you once he’s pushing you off of him. You feel bare without your sock, and you’re so sticky; it’s running _everywhere_.

 _My costume_ , you think, and the tears are wiped and licked away from your face.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.”

You sob even harder at the sound of that voice, that it’s coming from _Monkey_. He’s pulling your butt up into his lap, drives into it as easy as anything.

(You’re so loose. _They_ did that. Will it ever go back to normal? You don’t know; you’re scared, you can’t _talk_.)

“Shhh, little one, I’ve got cha.”

_College isn’t that far away, little one; I’ll come visit, promise, you won’t even notice I’m gone._

_You’ve got a spare sucker for big brother, little one?_

No, no, this is _Monkey_ , this isn’t the _same_ , ‘s not the _same_ person if it’s a mask, someone else.

_C’mon, little one, it’s half as bad._

_Was Nick mean to you again?_

Monkey pulls your dress down your chest until he can flick at your tits. Wolf’s humping at your face, doesn’t mind when he skips over your teeth. You can hear him gasp over Monkey’s huffs, over your own moaning, even.

 _Sorry, sorry, sorry, I didn’t know they’d ruin it, I swear_ – you put it all into your eyes, blink up at Monkey who’s unreadable. A wide grin, plastic.

It’s over quick, but he pinches you long after. Won’t let go.

You don’t try to find his eyes anymore.

“’S a big one, watch out.”

“Shut it, you ass.”

Wolf slides over you, settles in between your legs and hooks them over his shoulders. Folded in half, one prick dripping in the corner of your mouth, your eyes snap open.

You barely remember that you’re not allowed to speak, stave yourself off and instead yelp something like, “Ah-” cause it feels like you’re tearing, like this one won’t fit, and then you cry out once more when it pops in despite everything.

“Shit, guh-”

Tiger laughs in that crude way of his.

Wolf growls, “Shut _up_ ,” in response. Someone pinches your nose again, tilts your face up until your neck is bent backwards. Again someone’s slipping into your throat. You let them.

You’re losing it. You hurt and everything throbs, and it’s too much, absolutely.

You’ve never felt like you’re about to _burst_ , inside out. It’s different from Nick’s usual games. He’d tease your prick for hours. Flick at it. Pinch at it. Stick something into it. But at least he’d _touch_ it, and none of the creatures will do _that_ this time. You know it.

You want to beg them.

Make it stop. Make you tip over.

You’re stuffed hard enough to tear apart, desire to pee multiplied by a thousand, worse and worse the longer Wolf pistons into you, hisses in that broken quiet voice of his as if he’s embarrassed, like he can’t believe what’s happening either. You have places inside of you you didn’t know about that his prick chafes raw. All of them.

If you tried to call _Nicholas_ right now, nobody would hear you. It’d remain stuck in your throat.

So you go limp. You give up.

And that’s when it shifts – inside, like a knot coming undone, rushes over you and you’re horrified because you haven’t peed yourself in months, thought you’d had it, but you can’t stop it now; too late. It hits you across your own face, then into your mouth when they notice what’s happening. You don’t expect what you taste, rip your eyes open.

It’s not pee.

“Jesus, fuck, shit-“ Wolf wrenches his mask up to reveal his mouth, pants and hasn’t stopped moving, pounding inside you like a machine.

A shocked, “Dude!”

“What! I can’t _breathe_!”

Your prick keeps spilling. You’re scared. It’s never done it this way, never felt like this when it did it. You get fingers shoved into your mouth, get your tongue pulled on. You stare at Wolf’s spit-panting mouth. A drop of sweat hits your cheek; another.

“Shit, ohmy, shit.”

“C’mon, at least make it to a minute.”

“Shut it,” and that’s obscured because two fingers plunge into Wolf’s mouth, just like they’re doing it to you (but you have four by now), hooks and pulls it wide before they’re slapped away, bitten after. “STOP that!”

“Pretty pretty.”

“Heh.”

Wolf leans down to latch onto your throat. You scream, go rigid. That only makes him move faster, harder.

You see black, black, black, come back, and he’s still there, still suck-biting your throat. He’s burning up and sweaty, clings to your skin. Teeth like knives.

You’re crying. “Awww, baby.”

“Ah, ah, ah-”

“Almost done. Open...real...wide.”

Wolf bites down as he slams into you so far you feel it in your belly, and he holds himself there.

It burns.

You want to go home.

You want to crawl into bed with Anna, let her read to you, spray you with her daisy perfume.

“You want a turn, or...?”

Nick replies, “No.”

Tiger leans over you.

You’re tired.

You don’t intend to, but you fall asleep. It just happens.

You dream of going trick or treating with Gabe who pushes you into a blackberry bush. You cry, and he laughs at you. Samandriel helps you up but scolds you for tearing your costume. He tells you to go see the dog now for your punishment, the big one, and you know where to go and it bares its fangs at you.

Its fur is black and long, crusted with dirt and blood. Its claws are the length of your forearms.

It whispers _There you are_ as if it’s been waiting for you.

It reopens Nick’s cuts, one by one, and you cry but no one comes to help you.

All alone, your blood gets lapped away to the last drop, until you’re empty and cold.

You’re _cold_.

You open your eyes.

It’s quiet in the cardboard box house. Almost religious, reverent. You’re in Wolf’s lap. His thumb strokes your cheek absently.

Everyone is watching Nick, necks turned and all.

The smell of worn-down pennies makes you want to retch. Nick’s palm is oozing blackness. Lots of it.

“Accept my offer, my Lord. I beg of you.”

The knife on the floor looks like the one Dad won’t let you handle (it’s too sharp, Castiel, _no_ ).

“If you heard me...give me a sign.”

The silence is all-consuming.

Not even the air dares moving.

Which is strange, because,

the candle wavers.

Once, softly; like a kiss.

Your brother is something else. Dad says that so often nowadays, tells you _I’m worried about your brother, Castiel, you’ll tell me when you notice anything weird, right?_ cause Nick doesn’t tell Dad anything anymore ever since he sent him to that summer camp two years ago.

(Nick came back five years older and, not much later after Dad left for work that day, took all crucifixes he could find to stack them into a pile he’d then set on fire. You’ve never seen him cry before, or after. You were the only one he let watch.)

People have always been reluctant about Nick, but they’re wrong.

Your brother is a _good_ person.

An _angel_.

They don’t know. They don’t understand him like you can.

“I renounce God, the most Holy Trinity; I wholly renounce the vows made for me at baptism. I step forward with you in a new alliance and submit myself to you both in body and soul, forever into eternity.”

You’re never afraid of your brother. You love him. He’s your everything. The only one who understands you, who loves you.

But this mask. This _mask_.

You turn your head as quietly as you can to stare at the wall instead. Wolf keeps petting you. Nobody sees your lips move.

Nick huffs, strangely breathlessly, “So mote it be.”

The last candle dies and leaves all of you vulnerable to the night.


End file.
